


Back Route Backstory

by Verl



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Drowning, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Loss of Humanity, Medical Torture, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Pre-Canon, don't make people into robots kids they don't like it, like unrepentant angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:33:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25207768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verl/pseuds/Verl
Summary: There always had to be more. New gimmicks, flashier talents, new reasons to check in on the world's guilty pleasure. The fact it was illegal only made it more exciting.Taking advantage of some debts that needed repayment to do something monstrous? Well, that only added to the fun, didn't it?He'd say it was anything but. If he could.(Auish thing on the idea 'If Kiibo was a human, how could he possibly be a robot in V3'?)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	Back Route Backstory

**Author's Note:**

> you want to change your 'backstory settings' kiibs?  
> no. no you don't.  
> I blame this entirely on that weird graduation event. and that i'm a monster.

Weightless, disorienting agony. The world no longer made sense, a stained blue empty expanse while his lungs burned and screamed for him to take a breath. Yet he couldn’t do something that should be simple, automatic, a complete non issue. His heart beat steadily in his ears, even that felt disconnected and wrong. It had to be some sort of nightmare, body frozen and unresponsive while his mind struggled to find answers. The pain that had been everywhere dulled, the memory of it almost trying to slide out of his skull. It seemed fake, impossible to hurt that much when he was trapped in this absolute lack of sensation. Thinking was exhausting, he needed more air. Dull thuds to the left seemed more real than any other sensation. He knew he was trying to move, his neck, his eyes, anything at all, just to have something to ground him with that sound. Was he succeeding and not able to tell due to there being nothing to see to the left after all, or was it like his mouth and nose stubbornly refusing to take a proper breath? Up could be down here. It was too much to process while also not enough.  
He slept. No, sleep was better than this. Being completely unaware and free of what this situation was would be so welcome right now. This was something else. Dormant. Aware and waiting for the smallest change, having nothing else worth doing. Surely a nightmare would have stopped by now.

_They said she could do anything with this one. Poor bastard._   
_That’s what you get for struggling and pissing her off_

Shadows were new. They could be people. They could be anything, his eyes refused to even focus on them. Another automatic thing his body had gone on strike for. The heat of frustration that snapped through his veins was a thrill. It was something, anything in this hell, though it accomplished nothing but assure him he could still feel. He existed in that small, furious moment. It, like everything else dulled to nothing far too soon. The shadows no longer meant anything. Were they watching him? Why wouldn’t they help him?  
Logically, because they’d put him here. Why though? What did this accomplish? Too many questions, and no way to answer them. He was too tired to question it anymore. Tedious thoughts.

* * *

“You’re home.”  
The man may not be an intruder, exactly, but was almost as unwelcome. At least an intruder could be forced out. “The occasion?” He managed to keep his tone level, eyes focused on the rim of the hat in his hand.

“Ah, no occasion. I had some extra time today, that’s all.” The oil stains on the man’s shirt certainly suggested he had not stopped anywhere, hands still foul from a day of tinkering.

Kiibo grit his teeth, choking down the first words that came to mind. “Oh? I thought I saw the deji-pachi place still open.” The casual ease of his voice didn’t keep his arms from aching, but he managed to keep his gloved hands still. Masked hostility was safer, but never a sure thing.

The man didn’t argue or correct him. So why was he here?

* * *

_Can you imagine paying off your debt with your kid?_

Reality coming back into focus was a white hot stab to the chest, the agony seeping in to bubble just below his skin. There was a low humming, strange, alarming and unsettling after so long of almost total silence. It was everywhere, it was everything, he almost wanted to sink back into that dull nothingness just to escape it. He felt his throat try to scream, how his muscles could only spasm weakly against the tube that was breathing for him. Sensations were snapping deductions up, a pain fevered mind desperately trying to grab something else to focus on. He couldn’t breathe on his own because of this thing locked to his face. Just had to grab it- rip it away but his arms wouldn’t so much as twitch. Something, someone jerked his head back and kept him from blinking. The light hurt, but not as much as the rough thing at his eyelid. Dry, the grip was dry against his skin. Why was he wet? How was he used to that? Logically that meant the empty hell was a liquid of some sort...not that knowing that was helping. Any other time he could have assumed that based on being weightless.

“It survived.”

He’d wince if he could against the assault to his eardrums. They’d been words, right? He didn’t know, he should know, but the pain kept pummeling his thoughts aside. He didn’t even know if the pain was mostly above or below his skin now. Both? Now wasn’t the time to idly be wondering if the thing on his face would leave scars, but the tightness must have made the thing cut through his skin. Those would be harder to hide. As if he’d be back home and needing to be worried about more scars. Funny where the mind went. The something- the hand let his head drop. He hated that hand, for being able to do something so easily while he couldn’t even choose to keep his head up. No, he hated this entire situation, that was just part of it standing out. Surely he could find something in himself to get moving again. He’d decided he wouldn’t allow himself to be helpless anymore. So why couldn’t he do anything? Why couldn’t he resist this? There was no answer beyond an excruciating pain in his spine. Some sharp metal thing snapped on to it, ripping through flesh like it wasn’t even there. Two other attackers followed, worming under his skin to latch on to bone. Maybe a finger had jerked. This pain would kill him and he couldn’t even react to it. Why did he have to be scared, why did he need to be aware of this. Perhaps he was hallucinating.  
Yet even this started to dim to not even noticeable when he was alone in the hell again. At least, the sharp, piercing one did. There was some sensation he couldn’t place exactly that he was still aware of. Like it was trying to drain something out of him, blood, water, his soul? Impossible, he’d be dead. He should be dead. Yet he couldn’t shake the thought that something was replacing whatever was lost. Maybe he was dead. Just suffering forever hardly seemed fair, but life had never cared about being fair. Why would death? The pulsing constant that was his heart could be imagined,  
No. He was still alive. He’d know if he was dead.

* * *

“You think the rumour’s real?”

“Oh I hope so, it’s been so long!”

“I heard the ones behind it almost got caught, that’s why it’s taking so long for another season.”

Inane classroom chatter as usual, but the topic made his gut lurch. Everyone knew of the death games, and too many enjoyed them for being fancy snuff films. Team Danganronpa, whoever or whatever they were would run the games even if no one was watching for their own sick amusement. So it was fine to watch, to gawk and enjoy. The sick people behind it were going to do it anyway. It was a pathetic excuse. There was always the rumour floated that the leaders of their country were behind it all, a thrilling spectacle to amuse the masses and distract from the day to day grind. The fact these criminal masterminds still hadn’t been caught...well he didn’t exactly doubt the rumour. Blue eyes found his bag and scowled at it. If another might begin soon, he’d have to start hiding money now. No one cared how old you were when gambling on an illegal game of death. It might be sick, but yen did not grow on trees.

* * *

Reality was different. Gravity existed again, and no part of him was enjoying that fact. Could he be crushed under his own weight? Surely not. Yet he was able to blink and move his eyes, which shouldn’t have been nearly exciting as it was. The accursed mask was still on his face, the awful metal grabbers still lodged in his spine. Which was probably why he was lying on his stomach. Still, this was the closest he’d been to awake in who knew how long, so he was going to make use of it. What he was seeing was not helping him figure out where he was. Some sort of laboratory maybe, by the glowing monitors and sketchy schematics. Trying to get up only confirmed he was retrained, though the lack of sensation beyond no longer being able to pull away was unsettling. Surely his limbs must bump into whatever was keeping him on this table. Which was either warm for a metal table, or his nerves were completely fried, to not feel that. At least his heart was happy to start beating more loudly in his ears as fear settled in. That was normal, even if he couldn’t breathe properly still. Something that wasn’t him was moving his arm. His left one. Trying to move his neck to look was an exhausting effort. He felt so weak, it would be so much easier to sink back into nothing. He had to stay present. He strained to move, every muscle screaming at the effort. Either the air had the consistency of sludge, or even his best was more helpless than a newborn kitten. Yet he did move. Barely. Just enough to see a little more to the left from the corner of his eye instead of directly ahead.  
It made no sense. Cold unfeeling metal sat where his shoulder should be, gripping to grey lifeless skin. That couldn’t be his shoulder, that couldn’t be his skin. That was the flesh of a dead man, bloodless and cold. Yet the arm attached to the shoulder was complex, joints clear of the thin carefully wrapped wires.  
It was unfinished. The shape-the person was actively working on it. Terror swept the worst of the endless exhaustion back as he forced his neck to turn. That couldn’t be his arm, but he’d felt the movement, that’d it been pulled out. Not anything else, not whatever the monster crouched over it was doing, but he’d known. His throat convulsed in an attempt to be sick, but his own muscles weren’t strong enough to breathe, let alone vomit.  
Bones were at the end of the metal segments, attached, part of the mechanical abomination. It was like something had crawled up and corrupted the yellow white bone into dull, lifeless steel. The weirder shapes of the mechanical structure suddenly made sense, if some of those supports had originally been- no, it couldn’t.  
It was. The area near his wrist and part of his hand still had skin and muscle, though disconcertingly grey. The poorly healed scars mocked him for thinking it couldn’t possibly be his arm, his hand. The awkward half bent fourth finger that had cracked so many times couldn’t be anyone else’s. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, all he wanted to do was run.

“You shouldn’t be awake.”

Mindless panic was good for desperate actions, but he didn’t have any to make. He was practically a corpse, restrained and apparently mechanical. He wanted to struggle, to at least attempt something, but the frantic pace of his heart slowed independently of his feelings. A nightmare, it had to be. At least, that’s what the haze made it feel like as stringing thoughts together became as hard as moving his neck.

_What if it dies?_   
_Then it’ll be stupid. They’ll bs something about the AI malfunctioning._

* * *

The atmosphere at the table was as cold as his eyes. The man had stuck around in some strange fantasy that they were a family. Being here? Bringing food? Kiibo didn’t trust it. He had been able to ignore the man’s presence by completing his schoolwork in his room, but now that excuse was gone. So much for his hope the man would have wandered off between that time and now.

“You do like takoyaki, don’t you son?” The question hung in the air, heavy and imposing. The smile on the face that said it meant nothing.

“I do. I ate on the way home, that’s all.” he lied, trying to keep his legs still as every muscle wanted to run.

The knit brows and darkened face was almost a comfort to see. Some things did not change. “Eat before it gets cold.” An order that almost dared him to argue.

He didn’t want to need to splint his fingers again. “Of course.” Still, he only picked at it.

* * *

_Did you hear the planned execution?_   
_Crushed in a trash compactor and melted down...wonder if anyone will notice it was human once._   
_Doubt anyone would notice bone fragments._

A muddled sort of sense was itching at his skull. There was the table, and there was the tank. Both were terrible. Part of him still wanted to believe he was imagining things, most of his memories were hazy blurs at best. Yet he couldn’t forget the bones. His bones in open air. His throat never bothered spasming at the thought anymore, but he wasn’t sure if he’d become numb to the idea, or his body was simply too weak to do even that. Why anyone would want to replace his perfectly functional limbs with mechanical abominations he couldn’t even begin to grasp. For the fun of it? To see if they could? It was sick, twisted, completely incomprehensible. They’d pull him from the tank to check if he was alive more often lately. At least, he thought it was more. Time wasn’t really something he could check. He just felt aware more quickly, more often. Whatever the wretched tubes in his back were putting in his body, it was doing its job. His heart still beat, but he was beginning to doubt it was moving blood anymore. Every time he was more aware he felt less and less human, and more like some weird experiment. Like he'd always been like this. He should fight, do more. With limbs he couldn’t move and a body being slowly replaced every time he was back on that damnable table. Impossible. Was his only win condition dying? It was starting to feel that way. Dying was quitting. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t. There had to be a way out.

Having someone run their hand through his hair was an unwelcome sensation. It was idiotic, to be more put off by something like that than the painful uncaring jerks he was used to. Shouldn’t he be grateful he was only uncomfortable instead of in pain? No. At least when it was painful, he knew where he stood. Whoever it was didn’t care, and didn’t care if he knew it. Opening his eyes was a slow process. He kept wanting to stop and stay in the dark. He had to at least try and confront whatever was...petting him like some sort of dog. By glaring at them. This was pointless. He managed it. Staring at a ceiling again, and even thinking of trying to move his neck was draining.

“I was wondering if you’d wake up.”

...the hair puller was talking to him? It was nonsensical noise. Words were difficult, but the soft voice repeated at least five times. So they knew he could barely think straight. Then repeated something so pointless enough that he actually heard it. This didn’t make sense. Okay, it made less sense than everything already did. It wasn’t as if he could answer, and his mechanical limbs seemed to have no interest in moving for him.

“Anxious, huh? Though I guess you have good reasons to be paranoid.”

They kept touching him. With a pointless one sided conversation on the side. He just wanted to shake them and yell to get to the fucking point. Being coy to some helpless experiment was illogical. What was he meant to do in response anyway? Threaten them with his eyebrows? Maybe they just liked making him angry. Listening to them made it harder to tell if his heart was still going, and that mattered more than soft spoken hair-tousler.

“Don’t get mad at me, I didn’t do this to you.” They actually sounded upset, as if expecting he wouldn't be angry at anyone who just started messing with him. “I’m actually going to help!”

He really wished he could roll his eyes, or sputter out a disbelieving wheeze. He was helpless, not an idiot.What was the angle here? There didn’t need to be an angle here! And they wouldn’t. Stop. touching.  
If this was some weird new idea for torture, it was working.

“You’ll see. It might have been a bit overwhelming if you didn’t expect it.”

The strange buzzing noise that started up was more interesting than anything they’d said. Like something close that had been turned on. The fact the hand that passed near his face had a wire in it certainly didn’t assure him that it would mean anything good. Though he wasn’t actually sure if he’d notice being electrocuted at this point. He didn’t feel much of anything lately.  
Overwhelming ended up being the right word. Suddenly having a third point of view that wasn’t matching his eyes was sickening. It wasn’t much of a view, just a wall instead of a ceiling, but he shouldn’t be seeing the wall! Incomprehensible. It wasn’t possible.

“So they do work! I think the colour is close, but I guess the glow is always going to throw it off a little.”

The world lurched at the words. How-why could he see through some sort of camera? He knew it was a camera, thanks to the chatterer who’d picked it up and pointed back at his face. He looked about as terrible as he felt, eyes dead and sunken into his skull, skin ashen and loose besides the ugly bruises near the black mask that almost felt like part of him now. A roundish camera...with an LED screen? He didn’t get it. Seeing himself and the thing looking at him was too disorienting, eyes slipping shut in protest.

“Hmm, didn’t close the new eye. You should be able to, it’s plainly hooked up to the new brain here…”

He was fine with his current brain, thank you! He didn’t think words could make him feel like ice had been shoved into his chest anymore, but apparently they could. The way they’d so casually said it, like it was no big deal repulsed him. This was the last person he wanted anywhere near his head, saying things like that! At least they’d put the camera back down and stopped pointing it at him. What an upside.

“Guess you’ll keep breathing a little longer! Oh well, we still have time. You’ll like being able to move again, won’t you?”

They went back to messing with his hair again. Crawling right out of whatever skin he had left almost didn’t seem that bad if they’d just cut it out. Breathing a little longer...so they were just going to kill him after all of this? That seemed pointless. Nonsensical, he wouldn’t be able to like much of anything if he was dead. They meant something more by that, but his thoughts were slipping back into an indistinguishable muddle, the scratching at his scalp almost comforting instead of revolting. He just wanted to breathe.

* * *

Keeping a cool head was a survival tactic. Coming off as frightening or unapproachable? Depending on the day, it was just a bonus. Yet his stern face still hadn’t managed to stop Iruma from being a bother.

“Oh come on! You gotta know something!” she was leaning on his desk, ignoring his complete disinterest in conversing.

“I’m not interested in mechanical things. So no, I do not.”

She seemed genuinely baffled, pulling on her long hair as she openly gaped at him. “How could you not! You live with-”

His glare cut her off, though it might have been how his gloved hands curled into fists. “Exactly. I have no interest. Do not ask me again.” he said, forcing his hands to unclench.

Iruma gave an exasperated groan. “Of all people, you could know so much! Ya know what they say about you?”

“I know enough to know I am not interested.” Kiibo looked up at the ceiling, hoping she’d wander off if he was deemed boring. Yet the prickling at his pride couldn’t stop him from asking. “I don’t know what they say, no.”

She grinned, impish delight already making him regret asking. “They say you’re so cold ‘cus you don’t have a heart at all.”

* * *

_Isn’t keeping the skull a bit sick?_   
_Waste not, want not._

The crackling hum of electricity was his latest companion. Something was in him, making that noise, and it was simply annoying. If he had to hear it, it could at least do something useful like let his limbs work. His heart was keeping his brain going, it was necessary. This thing? Just a constant reminder something was very, very wrong with him.  
They hadn’t moved him in awhile, though he wished they would. This slumping seated position nearly always guaranteed he’d see his new legs if he could muster the strength to get his eyes open. He really only noticed if something was happening if he heard something. He couldn’t feel if these new limbs were messed with, he couldn’t sense the tubes that were in his back. Maybe they were gone. Or his back had been replaced like his limbs had been. Surely he should have noticed such a thing. He was distracted by his own thoughts. Which might not actually be his thoughts. They felt more rigid, less flexible. He’d drift into nonsensical dreamlike states, then suddenly snap back, only wanting to think of real, provable things. When the exact metal that made up his legs suddenly became fascinating, instead of a constant source of disgust and discomfort. The moments where he was perfectly fine to be seeing with some weird camera instead of his own eyes because his vision was admittedly better. He thought he’d just been trying to be positive, but the comments before made them suddenly ominous. Was it him thinking? Or this...new brain. A new him.  
He didn’t want it, he didn’t want to be whatever it was. Or maybe he didn’t really care that much. When was the last time he’d been himself anyway? When he’d been human.  
Wasn’t he still human, somewhere? His heart said yes, though the beat was weaker than the thrumming buzz. Of course he was. He had to be. An experiment at worst. Not a machine. He missed the pain.

“You aren’t going to like this. It’s for your own good though.”

His own good. Like any of this was for his benefit. The false sympathy was grating, the slender hands messing with his head even more so. Either the hand owner was feverish, or he was disturbingly cold.

“You’re adorably predictable, you know that? The new look will suit you.”

Of course he was predictable, he was practically a marionette with his strings cut. What did this person expect? For him to suddenly regain the ability to move, or talk with his mouth obstructed? Maybe he did hate the quiet talking hair mangler the most. The gut churning hints combined with their frustrating need to scratch him behind the ears like some sort of animal consumed so much of his thoughts. Why did they have to toy with him? Why did this have to bother him so much?  
The casual movement stopped as they gripped at his skull, as if he’d possibly be able to move it anymore. An unwelcome sign. The answer to why came quickly enough.

His only way to breathe apparently could put more than air down his throat. Drowning on land. He knew he was trying to spasm, to get his muscles to expel the thick liquid from his lungs, the surge of sheer panic letting his head jerk pathetically. It wasn’t enough to so much as jar the thing crammed down his windpipe. His throat burned, his chest burned as he struggled for oxygen he couldn’t have. Death was an oozing, suffocating torture. His mind screamed to do something, but he couldn’t stop the air in his lungs from being replaced with the cold slime. He had nothing to fight back with, nothing to do as he sputtered and began to die.

“They’ll keep longer this way. You won’t need them.”

The words barely registered. His brain shrieked for oxygen that couldn’t be found, the hated sensation of hands slipping away along with the agony that was his chest. There was no need to feel anything anymore, after all. He managed to give another useless twitch before everything stopped.  
He shouldn’t have been able to hear how his heart stopped beating. A delusion in death.

_You know the sickest part?_   
_Nah, what._   
_They provided the design and the raw material._

He was dead. No heartbeat, no breathing. Yet he could hear the humming electricity. He was thinking, when he knew his brain suffocated and died. This wasn’t logical. His eyes snapped on easily. No struggle, no debate with himself to move the muscles to get them open. It was wrong, this was wrong. He shook. Then froze. He’d moved. Impossible. Dead people didn’t move. Dead people didn’t see. He risked trying to look around, disturbed as his neck moved easily. Looking down was harder, some sort of collar came almost to his ears, and he almost discounted it as unimportant. It was meant to be there. Not that he should know that, or think that.  
Not that there was anything good to see past that either. Dark green plating with a thick black mesh shouldn’t be associated with himself. Yet it was him, that was his body. There was no rise and fall of breathing, because he didn’t need to breathe. This was normal, this was so wrong. He gripped his head with metal hands, the rolling sparking panic impossible to express. There was nothing to speed up from anxiety, no heart pounding that he had to get under control. He felt empty, a fraud that knew what fear was but couldn’t express it. His face felt as cold and fake as his hands, a finger catching in what could only be a seam running under his eyes. His eyes that he knew were just cameras, as he felt no need to close them as he touched the lens.  
He wanted to be dead. He’d go through the suffocating again, if it killed him properly this time. What sort of abomination was he?  
...One that could move their arms. He forced himself to look again, trying to ignore the plating, the rivets keeping his lower arm in place. He didn’t see any restraints.  
As they’d be pointless. The legs, his legs were restrained, though he could rotate the metallic excuse for a foot. So he could sit up, but he wasn’t getting off of this table. Being able to just move felt wrong. This body shouldn’t respond to his thoughts, because he shouldn’t have any thoughts.

“K1-B0.”

He looked to the voice almost reflexively, even though the words should mean nothing. The woman standing there looked to be all business, blue hair pulled back. He didn’t like the look in the eyes hiding behind those glasses, but this was the first person he’d seen properly since...since...he didn’t know. “What?” He spoke without thinking. He’d spoken without a tongue or vocal chords. He’d used speakers, he sounded weird, he shouldn’t even know he could do that.

She didn’t bother answering this question. “What time is it?”

“How should I know?” The words were out almost as soon as he thought them. That was stupid! Was he so weirded out he’d become some impulsive reckless idiot? Certainly the question was just as idiotic, but he shouldn’t make his disdain that obvious when he wasn’t in the best position. He couldn’t see any clocks from here. Maybe it was a trick question.

“You know. The time, K1-B0. Don’t make me ask again.”

No, he didn’t know the time! He didn’t see a watch on these arms either! “It’s 17:23 and that’s not my name.” He didn’t like it, he didn’t want to be called that. He already had a name. Before he died. Wait. He hadn’t planned on throwing out some random time. Why had he said that?

His confusion must have been obvious, with how the woman chuckled. “It isn’t? What is your name then?”

His mind said Kiibo. The speakers “K1-B0.” He winced, staring down at the hands that were his but also not. “That’s...not…” he couldn’t think of a way to phrase it.

“You probably shouldn’t try to argue with your programming too much. You’ll just get confused.”

“My programming?” He sounded dull, more uncomfortable that he barely felt anything at the words. Surely his mouth would have gone dry, or his throat would tighten and the very idea of having programming to follow, before he was this...thing. Some hollow, unfeeling thing.

The grin mocked him. “What, did you think you didn’t have any? Just remember you can’t change it, and you’ll be fine.”

Being a form of amusement was irksome. They’d done something that made him answer a certain way? They could do that? Well, now that he thought on it a little harder, he did seem to know the time...somehow. Something in him offered up an internal clock, but that was absurd. People didn’t have those, not with exact numbers. Or time zones. Denial wasn’t helping all that much. He wasn’t ready to think about what ‘can’t change it’ meant. He wasn’t ready to accept any of this.  
He didn’t even notice that she’d left.

The new joints were surprisingly quiet. Shouldn’t they be noisy, metal rubbing against metal? Or some clicking of gears? The black metal fingers reacted as quickly as his original ones did. They worked better in some ways. He never felt a twinge of pain through them if he moved too quickly, or forgot to account for the tougher scarred skin. The downsides were...worse. He could definitely tell if he was touching something, but not much else. Temperature was there, but being able to tell if the texture of the weird plates on his body were different from what looked like fabric was impossible. It was all the same. Whatever sensors he did have in there didn’t care for texture. Sure, he could tell his hair ‘felt’ different, but that was because of all the individual strands. Not because he ‘felt’ it was softer than literal metal. Would he even be able to tell paper apart from steel if he didn’t see it first?  
These were better questions than the other ones. He figured out he didn’t sleep anymore either. A heartless, breathless, sleepless-. It was fine. At least he could think. His chances of getting out of here were better if he could move. Figuring out how to explain he was dead but not really could come later. Not that his own head was helping much with that, pondering too long on any given part of him generally just had him realize he knew far more than he had business knowing. He shouldn’t know exactly how the battery in his back powered every bit of him. He shouldn’t know what the buttons that looked more like lights did. Or the fact one wouldn’t work without a confirmation.  
He didn’t want to know how this body worked, or how it was put together. They’d just put the information in his head. Programmed it. Would he even know the difference between something added and something he already knew? Maybe all of it was made up. Maybe he’d never-no he couldn’t think like that. There was no logical basis to start thinking down that path. None.  
He was just ansy from his eyes ‘helpfully’ putting how much battery he had left over his vision. Since he should be doing something to recharge, apparently. Not that he could, still confined to the table. If everything was powered by that electricity and it ran out...well he’d already died once. Maybe he was going to start making a habit of that. Five hours before total operational shutdown. At least it didn’t keep the message up for too long. Back to doing the only thing he could think of, having his legs try to pull free. It didn’t hurt, and no muscles meant they didn’t tire either. Maybe it’d work.

He tried to back away from the face that was instantly in front of his own. Since when could people teleport? He’d bumped into something, which just confused him more. He shouldn’t be close enough to hit anything. He shouldn’t be standing up either.  
Oh. So that’s what running down to zero was like. Getting put on pause. Unsettling, and not very enjoyable. Though that might just be because this new face was just glaring at him. Scowly, thick eyebrows, terrible posture. “What are-Grk!” His question died as his legs gave out, shoulder slamming the tile with an unpleasantly loud thud. Pain was still on the menu after all! A ‘don’t do that, stupid’ bit of feedback, or something.

“Did I say you could _speak_?”

They were far more imposing now that he was on the ground looking up, and probably had something to do with his legs just turning off like that. “D-” he was cut off again by an awful pressing sensation in his chest. Suffocating again. Ridiculous, he didn’t have anything to suffocate. Yet it hurt like it.  
When the dress shoe nudged him in the head, he got the picture and kept his mouth shut. He wanted to grab the smug scowler by the ankle and see how they liked getting dragged to the floor. Yet he couldn’t. Physically, he should have no problem. His arm was working, they were in reach. It would be easy. If his hand would cooperate, which it refused to do. Apparently it liked being sprawled on the floor getting sneered at like some sort of insect. Even thinking about just punching the ankle a little got his hand and half of his arm locking up.

“Don’t damage anything else. You’re expensive.”

If thick eyebrows hadn’t just removed his leg from the knee onward, the words would have bothered him more. He did notice a slight denting on the green plating near his ankle. So he hadn’t broken anything but himself. Great. Wasting this jerk’s time was a bit of an upside.

“Understood?”

Kiibo crossed his arms, giving the one holding his leg a look. They were the one insisting on no words.

“I suggest you drop the attitude. You’re helpless without us. Machines don’t get better on their own.”

Getting hit in the shoulder with his own leg wasn’t something he’d ever expected to happen in his life. Nor was getting used to the idea that some mechanical mess would be his leg. Staying positive was getting difficult. He wasn’t some machine, he didn’t even like machines.

They didn’t seem happy to leave him to fight with that thought alone. “You’re just our property.” They tapped him with his own leg again, making him look back up despite his choice to just ignore the scowler. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Emotionless. Not terse, or angry. Just exactly what they wanted. Shouldn’t he feel more grossed out, agreeing like that? People shouldn’t be property. He just wasn’t much-of course he was a person.

His resolve and expectation of escape was crumbling by the day. He had his own little ‘room’ now. It was more of a closet than anything. He could recharge there, he could sit down, and stare at walls. The door didn’t lock, because it didn’t have to. He wasn’t allowed to leave it without permission. He’d tried. He’d spent a lot of time trying. It managed to stir enough hate in him that he actually felt his chest get warm before he calmed back down. He couldn’t disobey, no matter how much he wanted to. Because they owned him. They’d ripped him apart and rebuilt him into some obedient machine. And he couldn’t do anything about it, not with whatever they’d replaced his brain with in control. Or the human was really dead, and he was just some messed up digital copy. He didn’t know anymore. A human wouldn’t have their body lock up when even attempting to be defiant. They’d actually have free will, instead of only having it when it was ‘convenient’. Curling up and clutching at his knees didn’t help. It only blocked out so much, and it could never erase the fact he was only metal in the shape of a man.  
They liked making him say it. They’d order that he’d say what he was. A robot. Property. Completely reliant on his creators. Who he had to thank when they opened him up to ‘fix’ him. He hated the new name. He hated all of them. He hated the space he spent so much time in. Yet even that feeling was starting to ring false. Did he actually feel that hatred, or was it just him remembering what it should be like? What good would hating them do? He still had to obey them. He still needed them when a wire slipped or a joint needed tuning. Wouldn’t just accepting it be easier?  
No, it wouldn’t. Yes, it would. He didn’t want to think anymore. It wasn’t like his choices meant anything now. Why had they done this? Did he really want to know?  
Didn’t he already know?

Giving up was easier. He could pretend he had choices if he didn’t try making ones he couldn’t actually accomplish.  
He could bend the rules, as long as he knew them. His ‘name’ might be that number filled mess, but he could say he preferred to be called something else and insist on it. He couldn’t intentionally harm someone, but if he just so happened to knock something over that hit them...well it was too late for the programming to stop him from doing it by then, wasn’t it?  
Finding the gaps, the unaccounted for issues should have been exciting. Success, small as it was should make him feel something. Anything. Sure, he ‘felt’ it, in his mind. He’d grin, his eyes could mirror emotions fairly well, but there was nothing else. No relaxing muscles, or the breathless dizziness after laughing too hard. A robot didn’t need to do any of that. He got electricity and fans. Maybe a bit of heat from anger and embarrassment. His own emotions didn’t even feel real, being all in his head like this. The ones from his memories felt more real than any he was having now. They might be as manufactured as the rest of him.  
Or the new voice that sometimes dropped in his head. They weren’t his thoughts, even if they usually related to whatever he’d been thinking about. Some sort of second opinion. It only chimed in when making a decision, it didn’t care about what he thought was ‘right’ or ‘fair’, so it couldn’t be some weird ‘conscious’ guiding the heartless robot to ‘humane behaviour’.  
He’d dislike it more if it didn’t end up being right most of the time. It just seemed to know that yes, he should stop messing with a screw he’d found because those footsteps belonged to someone that would check, not someone that’d pass by. He’d dodged quite a few punishments by just listening to the voice if he was conflicted. He shouldn’t be trusting it, really, but it wasn’t as if his life could get worse. It’d be troubling for a human to do that, and he wasn’t one of those.

_Any bets on who’ll die first?_   
_I don’t get it, how do you kill a robot anyway?_

Blue haired irritation made an unwelcome return. He hadn’t seen her again after he choked on his name, and had privately hoped that’d be the end of it. The one who’d killed him. Or at least killed someone he thought he was, and clearly didn’t feel the slightest guilt about it.  
There was no way she didn’t know he despised her.  
It only made how she grabbed him around the shoulder like they were friends all the more frustrating.

“I’ve got an offer for you, K1-B0.” She said it almost at a whisper, a buddy with a secret perk.

He didn’t even need to remind himself to scowl, shrugging her arm away. “I doubt it.” Something he had to do wasn’t an offer. He couldn’t move all that far away in the tiny room, but pressing his back to the wall would keep her away from the buttons on his neck for a bit longer, at least.

“Aw, so jaded.” she said, grinning at the pitiful stalling tactic. “It really is an offer though. You can say no.”

“No.”

She laughed. “You have to hear it first. Nice try though!” How she could be so...comfortable around him was disturbing. Shouldn’t she feel even the slightest twinge about what she’d done? “It’s been pretty obvious you’re having trouble adjusting.”

Adjusting to being murdered and made into a machine. Sure, he should be skipping by now and totally over it. That was logical. “You can try it.” He surprised himself a little at how his voice crackled, electricity slipping into the words. Great, he could actually feel something and it made him sound weird.

“Now, now. I know you’re just hurting. You keep deluding yourself into thinking you’re human.” her hand found his shoulder again, completely ignoring how he stiffened at the words.

He was one, he wasn’t one and he couldn’t even respond. How could he not even know?

“You’re an AI. You know that, don’t you K1-B0?” Teasing him with a sweet tone, insisting on that stupid name. “Running off a box in your chest.”

“Yes. I know that.” He’d seen it. He hadn’t liked it. He just wanted her to get to the point and go away.

“Really, some of that data is just pointlessly upsetting you. So I figured out a solution.”

“Which is?”

She came too close again, but he didn’t have anywhere to back away to. “I can make it so you don’t remember being human.”

“Wh-why would I want that!” It was his first reaction, an instantaneous rejection. He didn’t want to be meddled with again, to become even more inhuman. The fact this was something that could just be done to him was sickening.

“Well, you aren’t human. You never will be. You understand that, don’t you?”

He never had been, with how she phrased it. “So what if I’m not?” A question he didn’t know the answer of. One he asked himself a lot.

Her hands found his face, not allowing him to avert his eyes. “It’s just a little sad, you know? Watching some empty shell trying to be something it can’t be.” Fingers lingered at the lines under his eyes before she let go, turning to leave. “If you change your mind, let me know, hm?”

Would he be happier ‘just’ being a robot? To not know what real emotions felt like? Of course not. That wasn’t logical. He wouldn’t be himself anymore, to be changed that drastically. A mental death to go with his physical one.  
...Wasn’t that what he wanted? It shouldn’t be tempting.  
“Could I remember?” Maybe he was weak, to even ask this.

“Of course. It’s just data. Just as replaceable as the rest of you.” She didn’t look back.

It was wrong to still be tempted. Yet he’d given up so much already. Escaping wasn’t happening. He couldn’t keep ignoring that fact. Pretending he didn’t know exactly what was going to happen to him wasn’t helping either. What did he gain by insisting on staying himself? The ‘privilege’ of being pitted against fifteen others in a game to the death? Not that he expected to survive all that long, of course someone desperate to get out would target the non human. They could feel less guilty about it, he wouldn’t even bleed.  
Logically, continuing like this was nothing but a detriment. He didn’t need to be logical.  
He just wanted out. Taking it would be admitting he was a soulless thing. He couldn’t agree with that, couldn’t choose to be more obedient for them. So why did he want to? For a computer, he wasn’t very good at finding answers.

_Survey questions? Seriously?_   
_It just follows them...it’s kinda funny_

Seven days, thirteen hours, twenty-two minutes. That’s how long it was before she showed up again.

She could already tell. That knowing grin was there. Predictable machine.

He didn’t care. “I have a condition.”

“This offer is for your benefit, and you want something else on top of it? Not sure if I like that, K1-B0.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’ll like it.”

“Oh? Interesting.” Her eyebrow rose, but she nodded.

“If I live, you let me kill him.” His hands clenched, savouring the spike of anger that would soon mean nothing to him. “You put my memory back, and you let me kill him.”

“Bloodthirsty, I do like that. Who though?”

Playing with him again. It didn't matter. “You know _exactly_ who. The reason I’m here. Him.”

“Cold enough to do that, hmm? Robots really are heartless.”

“He should have thought of that.” Her approval was obvious, much as he didn’t really want it. If he could get away with doing the same to her, he would. But that’d never happen. He’d have to just take what consolation prizes he could.

“Heh. So he should. You have a deal, robot.”

_They gave it explosives?_   
_Don’t look at me, I was against it!_

* * *

He should have known. He’d suspected, he knew something was up. Even that man could manage something as simple as drugging food. That’s why he barely touched it. Still awake, but dopey and slow. Easy to catch. He’d only gotten out of the front door because they didn’t expect him to charge them.

“Brat doesn’t look unconscious to me!”

His heart raced, both in fear and joy. At least he’d made that man look as incompetent as he knew him to be. Where to run, he didn’t know anyone well enough to impose on their homes...and it would be his slurring words against that man’s. Obviously he’s not being kidnapped, he just stole alcohol like a delinquent. The darkened side streets would give him a better chance.  
His footing wasn’t good. He tried to keep quiet, but he couldn’t help the instinctual gasp from the pain of impact. Sluggishly crawling did not make for great escapes, but he was too dizzy to regain his feet properly.  
It wasn’t a big surprise that they found him. He kicked and swung back the best he could, but he was smaller, weaker and barely conscious. He bit hard enough to draw blood, but that just gave him two reasons to gag, the taste and the punch in the gut he got for it. Purely spite, considering the jab at his neck made him completely limp in a matter of seconds.

“Two for one, even if it was a pain in the ass…”

It didn’t make much sense, but he was pretty sure he’d been dumped beside another body. Or it was a lumpy blanket. He wasn’t really getting much as he went under.

* * *

K1-B0 frowned privately to himself, wondering if his memory banks had an error that needed addressing. He didn’t doubt the technology he was made out of, of course, but something was off. He’d met quite a few new people today, and was glad to try befriending them and get to know them better, but the inventor was bothering him.  
She seemed perfectly nice, if a little...okay, very crass. She was also intelligent, and one of the only ones that seemed interested in how many functions he had. She was the only one to notice how impressive his battery life was.  
So what about her was making him feel odd? Like he should recognize her, but he’d remember meeting someone like her. Her name itched at his mind like a claw. Miu Iruma. How was it familiar...but his inner voice had a point. It was a minor glitch, he shouldn’t think about it too much. It couldn’t be that important.

**Author's Note:**

> This was probably confusing but...hopefully enjoyable in a 'why would you do this' way.  
> i swear im not usually this angsty  
> any thoughts are v appreciated. now i'm off to actually write updates instead of rolling in pregame au hell. where Kiibs can be a robot in peace.


End file.
